Miasmatic, Part Two
by Avery
Summary: . . . and a scar. Here there be Monsters . . .


Miasmatic  
By Avery  
  
AN: When I put 'Here there be Monsters" in the description, I wasn't kidding. Be prepared.  
  
Part Two  
  
San Francisco glowed in the wintery dusk, walled in by the hills and the glittering bay. Valmont paced the length of his office, not bothering to switch on any lights as shadows bunched up in the corners of the room, and under the desk. The sky was heavy with deep purple, bruised clouds promising rain, and a cold wind was seeping through the loose windowpanes. Like a puncture wound oozing fuchsia gore, its last rays of light reflected off the large mirror on its crate alter filling the with coppery, tainted light, staining Valmont's aristocratic form as he regarded the ornate frame. He approached the mirror, giving it a critical eye, and trailed his fingers over the unnaturally warm glass.  
  
"What are you planning, you sly beast?" He whispered, searching the surface for answers. But Shendu's face was still, his eyes closed; the demon seemed to be napping. Valmont stepped back and considered his drawn reflection, and the frightening overlay of Shendu's spiny face. The blonde man felt him stir, somewhere in the back of his mind, turning over in his 'sleep', and he was overcome with a-- a scheming feeling, something that had been swelling for quite some time. And then this summons . . .  
  
There were two hesitant knocks on the old, brittle door. Valmont swept away from the mirror, moving behind his desk, and called out loudly. "Come in."  
  
Timidly, Chow pushed open the door. His glasses shielded his eyes, but by the way he skittered inside, Valmont could tell that he was nervous. His head was tilted down, staring fixedly at the floor. "Hak Foo said you wanted to see me, boss?" He asked quietly.  
  
Valmont swallowed a quick, nasty comment on the enforcer's subservient behavior, and instead shuffled outdated paperwork. Strangely, he felt uncomfortable. Like noting exactly how someone's face looked after you worked it over with a tire iron . . .true, he never cared for the enforcers, he was never their friends; and yes, at one point, they had been expendable, fodder in the great war for criminal dominance. But now- somewhere far away, buried under trash piles of discarded emotions, sympathy sparked. They were all suffering for Shendu's gain, and the three men serving under Valmont were finally starting to show it. Finn's devil- may-care attitude had faded, leaving his jokes empty and his face tired and prematurely lined. Ratso faired the best, but Valmont, in a rare moment of awareness, had noticed the cuts and cracks in his hands, byproducts of the battle to unlock the Pan-Ku box. Chow . . . didn't let anything show. Ever. The last time Valmont had seen any emotion other than fear of the demon was when they'd set his leg, two weeks ago, and pain wasn't much better than terror. And their wearing down meant more to Valmont than a simple trigger for his softer side. Unfortunately, they were the closest things Valmont had to normality. As they wore away, so did he, so did his grip on the human world. They were his chains to his species, and the links were weakening.  
  
It took Chow's uncomfortably shifting to lure Valmont to speech. He cleared his throat, and smiled bright. "Actually, it was Shendu who wanted a quick chat. He's not in right now, but if you have a seat, he'll be with you in a moment," He replied wryly, trying to take out a little of the terror that would accompany that statement. Sure enough, Chow stiffened, though that was the only sign of fear the enforcer seemed willing to express. Valmont waved at a rickety chair, the only one in the office. "Go ahead. Sit."  
  
Chow shook his head, preferring to be ready to run, Valmont supposed. Though he wouldn't be able to move very fast, anyway; After the fall from the water tower, and the subsequent shattered leg, Shendu had concocted a beige, absolutely revolting smelling and even worse tasting potion that would mend the bone, though it failed to relieve all the pain. Sighing theatrically, Valmont pushed the chair towards him. "*Sit*".  
  
Chow looked up at him for the first time, his hair dripping into his eyes, overdue for a trim. He moved toward the seat when he was interrupted by a sinewy, cruel hiss. "Stand."  
  
The shock of hearing that voice so suddenly caused Chow to jump, knocking the stack of paper Valmont had been fidgeting with off the side of the desk. Terrified of Shendu's short temper, he immediately dropped to his knees, gathering up the fallen documents. "Ah- I'm sorry, sorry." He stuttered.  
  
A hand gently alighted on the top of his head, and he halted all movement, even blinking. The perilous fingers did not move for several seconds– and then began, lightly, to twine themselves in his hair. He didn't even twitch, staring straight at the piles of papers in his frozen hands. Shendu ran the strands between his digits, fingered them, stroked them, not pulling, just . . . wandering. Just as Chow's hurt leg began to protest, they drifted down the side of his face, and cupped him under the chin, tilting his head up to look the Demon Sorcerer in the face.  
  
Shendu leered at him, illuminated from behind by the very last drops of bloody sunlight. The unnatural radiance matched his eyes nearly perfectly, eyes that were tracing the contours of Chow's face. His sunglasses still covered his eyes, thank god. Chow had vulnerable eyes. It would be very dangerous to let Shendu peer into them. The demon was smiling, and that was never good.  
  
Slowly, as if compensate for the cramping a quick rise would bring, Shendu raised Chow to his feet. His hand slid from its supportive place under the delicate jawbone, coming to rest on his shoulder, keeping the Enforcer pinned. Chow nervously contemplated just how much taller Valmont was than he, while he waited for some kind of clue as to what, exactly, was going on. His head barely reached the other man's chin.  
  
He gasped quietly as Shendu's thumb- newly calloused– trailed over his lips. A revulsion, a terror was niggling him, something that had nothing to do with the fact that he was being . . . he didn't know what he was being, but it was by a Demon Sorcerer, a pissy one at that.  
  
"Chow." The commanding murmur came as Shendu's quirked smile faded from Valmont's face. He was now looking– curious? Serious? "That is your name, is it not?"  
  
The Asian man nodded numbly. He wasn't surprised Shendu didn't know his name, and had to admit, he rather liked it that way. They were useful objects, tools for the egocentric dragon. Never people, never individuals. Shendu nodded back, smiling again, this time baring his teeth. Chow got the distinct impression of something sharp, even though Valmont's teeth were a dentist's wet dream. "Chow. Chow, I'm going to question you at length on several subjects. You will answer me truthfully. Is that understood?"  
  
Glasses slipping out of place, Chow nodded again. He reached up to push them back, but suddenly, Shendu had his thin wrist netted, bent at an angle that would cause him a fair amount of pain if he moved quickly. Fearfully, Chow tried to pull away, but Shendu held fast.  
  
"Good. Now, Chow, tell me," Shendu pulled him forward with a brusque jerk, so that their chests- or, well so that Chow's chest and his abdomen- brushed together. "Have you done a good job as a slave? Have you done anything worthy to my, to *our* cause?"  
  
Utterly flummoxed by the question, Chow yammered ineffectually, stuttering through the beginning of something that was half explanation, half excuse, until Shendu's eyes bored into his once again. Intimidated beyond belief, he mumbled a barely audible "N-no."  
  
Shendu extended the aggressive smile even farther. "And have you done anything to help your poor, piteous employer?"  
  
Chow felt the wind sucked out of him. He knew Shendu was just trying to get under his skin, but it sure as hell was working. "No." He whispered, dropping his gaze. Seemingly satisfied, Shendu let the smile shrivel back into a smirk, and returned to his little game of distantly observing his quarry's extreme discomfort. The hair rising on the back of his neck, Chow endured the bizarre act, but his feet itched to beat the concrete floor, running far from the dingy office.  
  
Without warning, Shendu scooped his arm around Chow's waist and brought him into full contact with Valmont's body. He leaned in close, way to close for comfort, and *bit* Chow, his teeth gouging the skinny throat.  
  
His head just wouldn't work. Some kind of door seemed to have been broken down in his memory; some kind of nauseating deja vu was making him go blind. Hands, lips- doing this, they're *laughing* he's bleeding, oh my fucking god no . . . his eyes shot open, and Chow squealed in shock and pain. Regardless of the consequences, his fingers clawed at Valmont's back, trying to tear Shendu away, get him off. The demon only pulled him in tighter, Valmont's arms, so strong from years of training to be the best in everything, pressing his lips and teeth against Chow's neck so hard that the brunette felt his blood trickle down to nestle warmly in the pronounced hollow of his collarbone. Shendu liked that. When he finally moved away, his mouth was red.  
  
Chow would have fallen over, but Shendu had kept his grip around the man's waist, brutally squeezing his ribcage. Still bruised, though no longer cracked, the area ached under the pressure. The demon seemed nonplussed, although he was slowly licking away the blood covering his thin lips. He tilted his head in, his breath acrid on Chow's ear. "My little dog. My little moneymaker."  
  
"Ah . . ." Chow's face screwed up in anguish, the gasp escaping his lips before he even knew it was there. Shendu laughed, a horrid, husky noise.  
  
"Isn't that what he used to say to you? Wasn't that your purpose?"  
  
He had no idea where he got the strength, but suddenly Chow had wrenched himself free, the momentum of the movement unbalancing him so that he tripped, and crash landed on the floor. Shendu looked partially shocked, but more amused than all else. He laughed silently, following Chow's progress as the man scuttled across the dirty floor, until felt the wall against the back of his head. Under the dumbfounded fright, there was a questioning voice; and it was that voice which managed to find its way through a labyrinth of closed throats and thick tongues. "How . . ." He cried weakly, the question wavering and no louder than a sparrow. "How do you know?"  
  
Shendu laughed, but abstained from answering. Instead, he casually considered the interior of the office. Chow continued to brace himself against the wall, his breathing was short and uncontrolled, and his fingers clenched against the wooden floor, as if hoping to find purchase there. The bite mark stung and throbbed. "Please." He wheedled.  
  
"As you've probably guessed, it has been a very long time since I was free in the human world. The technology has changed quite a bit." Shendu moved over to Valmont's computer, tapping a few keys experimentally. "But the humans." He smirked wickedly at Chow. "Seem not to have changed at all."  
  
"Shendu, boss, sir . . ."  
  
"Maybe weaker." The demon meandered through out the office, examining various modern objects as if he'd never encountered them before, even though Valmont had used them on countless occasions with Shendu in his body. Several times, he turned his back to Chow, and the slim man had to resist the urge to bolt for the exit. Eventually, he completed his circuit, and stood arrogantly in front of the cowering figure. "I want you to explain something to me, Chow. I want you to explain exactly why you haven't been doing your job. I want you to tell me what it is in you humans that make you so susceptible to emotion, and why it interferes with your- dare I say it? Workplace performance."  
  
Chow stayed quiet, not out of defiance, but out of a pure lack of understanding. The out of place things Shendu had said earlier still rang in his ears, the echoes making it hard to concentrate on anything else.  
  
The kick came out of nowhere. Chow felt himself lifting and his solar plexus molding to the shape of Valmont's Italian leather shoes, until his back met the drywall and he was consumed by a double pain. He gagged for air, red spatting the floor as he gasped, and a pixilated sparking trailed on the edges of his vision. "Answer me, slave!" roared Shendu, nailing him once again, this time in the lower intestines. Chow curled up on his knees, gripping his hurt stomach, and he felt the broad palm of Shendu's hand meet his face. The slap knocked him flat sideways.  
  
He tried to think through the pain, to evolve a response that would stop the blows, but all he could concentrate on was gagging. The room had gone fuzzy, both from dizziness and the fact that his glasses had been knocked askew by Shendu's harsh conversational skills. He felt fists ball the lapel of his jacket, lifting him of the floor, and tried to focus on Shendu's now calm face. His toes dragged against the wood. "Answer me." Shendu demanded in a controlled voice. "Why do you not do your job?"  
  
Chow didn't dare struggle. "Chan." He replied, his voice nearly too breathy to be understood. Shendu thrust him forward like he was a mallet, slamming him against the wall. Agony supernova-ed in his right shoulder.  
  
"NO! Why do *you* not do your job?! Not your insignificant organization. Why do *you*, Chow. Why do you not function correctly?"  
  
"I—I don't know. Really, I don't-- I can't—what?"  
  
Maybe the honesty in his answer had finally got through to Shendu, because the demon loosened his grip slightly. "Well," He hissed. "I should expect as much from an *idiot* like you." He held the enforcer suspended in silence, mouth a tight slash.  
  
"How . . . how do you know?" Chow pleaded, giving in to his morbid, dangerous curiosity, his bravery rewarded with another excruciating date with the wall. As he was pulled away, plaster dust followed, he was sure the space behind him would be cracked.  
  
"Question two." Shendu licked his lips. "Explain emotion."  
  
This time, Chow kept his mouth shut. He didn't think another stuttered admission of ignorance would calm the demon, and he knew that an improper response would only result in more abuse. So he closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, really, really thought. Shendu, surprisingly, exhibited a high level of patience, and lent the man a few seconds of contemplation.  
  
"We- we're born with it." He began hesitantly. "As we grow up, we start to, I don't know . . . lose it. Well, more like hide it. So it doesn't, um, 'interfere'." He waited for a response from the demon, arm hanging limply. The shoulder was dislocated.  
  
"And if you hide away emotion, why does it come back at the most inopportune times?"  
  
"I . . ." Horrified and embarrassed, Chow flashed backwards in time, an insufferable realization slowly drawing the sap from his veins and depositing it Candy Apple red in his cheeks. Anticipating another blow with his insufficient answer, he replied faintly. "I don't know."  
  
"Like, for instance . . . the emotion you've been displaying over the past few weeks."  
  
"I haven't-" Chow began to protest weakly, then wisely shut his mouth. Shendu just shook his head.  
  
"Stupid human. Those that show the least emotion are often feeling the harshest. It started after our botched attempt to free my brother, Tso Lan. And for some . . . inexplicable reason, intensified the following week. When we were gone. Tell me why, Chow."  
  
Utterly aghast, the enforcer could only stutter syllables of denial. Shendu rolled his eyes and sighed. "Very well." He ungraciously dropped Chow, and the man met the floor on his weak leg, which buckled beneath him. He tried to regain his balance, but a second later Shendu was gripping his right arm, and then *twisting it*--  
  
"Ahhhh!" The intense pain brought a prickling feeling to Chow's eyes. He dropped all the way to his knees, and Shendu knelt with him, still contorting the arm.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Oh, God! Stop!"  
  
The blue-eyed demon reached his free hand up and squeezed the afflicted shoulder with every once of strength he had. "Why?"  
  
"EEAHHH! AH! AH!" There were tears trailing his face now, Chow knew. He felt glad that the sunset had finally faded, the only illumination from a damp orange streetlight outside and the malevolent glowing eyes narrowed in grim pleasure at hearing him scream. The fingers dug deeper, the arm twisted farther, so that not only was the pain from his shoulder, but his arm was on the breaking point.  
  
"OH MY FUCKING GOD, PLEASE!" Chow begged, rewarded by laughter. "Please! Please! PLEASE STOP IT!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"UhhheeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHHH . . ." He wailed as Shendu slowly deformed the joint even more. He felt so weak, he couldn't take it, he had to tell. He had to. It hurt too much.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I KISSED HIM!" Chow confessed, screaming the admission.  
  
The pain abated, leaving a comparatively pleasant ache behind. He cradled his arm, and felt shame replace the physical torment, settling comfortably into the still warm seat. "I kissed him."  
  
"You kissed who?"  
  
Chow closed his eyes. He could feel Shendu behind him, watching, waiting, but couldn't muster an answer. He could see it again, Finn's face, God, feel the way he kissed. Chow had never felt something like that before. Ever. Nothing so . . . muted. Desire had been there, but it had been clean. Human. And he'd blown it, he'd tried too hard, too quick to make Finn happy. Anything for him. Anything. He'd done only what he'd been trained to do . . . Shendu trailed his fingers over the hurt shoulder, not painfully, but with threat.  
  
"Kissed who?"  
  
Chow felt a new brand of sting in his eyes, one born of something deeper and more visceral than corporeal pain. "Finn."  
  
"Finn. That would be . . . which one?"  
  
"Red hair."  
  
Shendu laughed. "Ah. Yes. More attractive by far. I was about to say, had you meant the other . . ." Pulling Chow into a faux embrace from behind, Shendu whispered into his ear. "So you admit you gave in to your emotion. Your need for contact with another human. Your weakness."  
  
Chow saw no point in denying it. And in fact, the sentence rang strangely true. It'd been so long since he'd had someone. So damn long since someone had actually cared enough to try and stop those fucking, betraying tears.  
  
Not relish in them.  
  
"It does fascinate me, however, that you would be such a glutton for punishment." Shendu said, standing abruptly. "Asinine little whelp. You never learn from your mistakes. After Adam, one would assume you would realize the futility in reaching out. On your feet."  
  
Chow didn't bother asking. He tried to obey the command, and strained to stand, his leg numb. It was unable to hold his weight, weakened by the abatement of adrenaline, and told him so by collapsing at an odd angle, causing him to fall over and kiss the floor with his disabled shoulder. The pain made him squeal. Shendu sighed dramatically, giving the ceiling a long- suffering look, and hauled Chow upwards by his hair.  
  
The Enforcer struggled, sensing that the demon was beginning to become bored, and annoyed. Shendu wrapped Valmont's muscled arms around Chow's waist and lifted him clear of the floor, fingers digging into the protruding hipbones. He threw him forward to land, in a crash of papers and a lamp, on top of the walnut desk. Chow lay there, panting, feeling little pain tears pool on the bridge of his nose. His leg cramped randomly, the muscles clenching as if being electrocuted and his shoulder felt . . . juicy, and limp. The bruises Shendu's beating left him with pulsated. His face stung, his neck burned, and half-dried blood cemented his face to the surface of the desk.  
  
There was a noise. Chow literally choked, his throat closing completely, fright snapping his lean fingers taught. Shendu watched his red- eyed reflection in the knife he'd unsheathed, drawing the blade across one of Valmont's tanned thumbs. A fine line of liquid followed it, and the demon smiled victoriously. The knife was one of Valmont's antique letter openers. Only the crime lord would have kept the stiletto blade shattered glass sharp.  
  
Chow heard himself, as if he was watching a nearly-muted movie, whimpering in Chinese. He knew he was begging. He couldn't help it. Knives, knives, knives . . . he knew he should do something, fight back somehow. Kick. Punch. Fuck, *bite*, like Shendu had. But he couldn't, he couldn't do anything but scramble for the perfect pleading tone that would free him. Shendu's eyes were crinkled in pleasure at the moaning pleads; he tilted his head, as if listening to a particularly fine movement of classical music, or a delicate aria. Chow sobbed openly, heartbeat frantic as his assailant approached.  
  
Shendu swung his arm in a wide arc, faster than Chow's eyes could register. The blade sunk into the wood a millimeter away from his shaking, heaving chest, scratching his left side and piercing his shirt, effectively pinning him. "The reason I bring up emotions." Shendu began calmly, fingers caressing the hilt of the knife as Chow continued to beg under his uncontrollable breath. "Is because they are very obviously getting in the way of your duties. And your cohorts, as well. I chose you because you are the weakest, but they are certainly guilty for this travesty as well. You Chow, are my messenger. Tell the others— or show them—" Shendu stroked the side of Chow's face, fingers mirroring the edges of the ugly bruises blooming there. The enforcer shuddered and bit his lip, trying to squirm the fabric of his shirt out from under the blade's point. "That I do not tolerate such unevolved behavior. You will contain yourselves. Or there will be . . . cutbacks." He twisted the knife, grinding it deep, and it splintered the wood with a screech. "I only need one of you to bear the box."  
  
Chow shook, eyes clenched shut, clutching at his shoulder.  
  
"Is this understood?"  
  
He could barely hear Shendu, he could barely hear anything above the memories playing out in his head. Adam, Adam with the knife, Chow's knife, he used to love that knife, Adam flicking that knife, flicking and then then oh god oh god ohgodohgod it HURTS . . .  
  
Shendu swept up the blade, the metal singing as he swished it through the air and sank it into Chow's thigh up to the hilt.  
  
Chow's scream was instantaneous and intense, and Shendu visibly reveled in the agony present in it. He rotated the blade, cutting muscle and nicking the bone, ripping the skin, and covered Chow's mouth with one hand, as if he wanted to *feel* the scream. Blood jetted from the wound, soaking Chow's jeans and dribbling in a tiny maroon waterfall onto the floor, where it pooled dark among the snowy papers. Shendu's fingers were slick with it, and when he let go of the knife to reach up and trace one of them down Chow's cheek, it left a stain, like war paint. His victim convulsed at the touch, violently shaking his head back and forth, whimpering. Shendu tsked. "Don't pull away. I'm not going to hurt you." He hissed malignantly, drawing out the knife at a tortoise's pace. Chow howled into the domineering muffle of Shendu's hand, his eyes pleading with Shendu's, and for a moment, as they made contact, the man was sure he saw the red light burning within them fade. But just for a moment. And then the moment was over.  
  
Setting the weapon aside, faux tenderly, Shendu brushed back his platinum hair, dying long tracks of it crimson. He licked his fingers, staring sharply at the helpless form splayed before him. The streetlamp, the ghetto spotlight on their sadistic little play, guttered and sizzled. Large moths diving before it, whisking powdery shadows over the two of them. Chow felt his glasses being lifted off. He dared a slight look between tear-drenched lashes, and saw Shendu crush them in one hand, the plastic splintering and falling to the floor with a vacant sound. He heard a heaving, wet noise, a gasping "Uh uh huh uh uh uh ah nnnnhh," and realized, despairingly, that it was coming from him. He'd lost whatever semblance of control he had, and could no longer convey his terror in speech. A long shadow bent of over him, and he winced, clenching his eyes back shut. The stab wound felt hot and feverish.  
  
"I know what Valmont knows, you know." Shendu said, smirking at his own little word game. Chow pressed the ball of his hand against the wound in his thigh, trying to stave off the pain, until Shendu's words registered. . The lower part of his body, coated in radically cooling blood, shivered and broke out in tiny goose bumps. He felt Valmont's hair brush his cheek, and Shendu's brimstone-hinted breath. "I know what Valmont knows. I know alllll about the trip he took to Beijing. How old were you, Chow? Nineteen? Valmont remembers what you looked like back then. So thin. He remembers how it looked like you could *break*."  
  
Nineteen. When Valmont brought him to America. He had . . . he . . .  
  
He remembers how it looked like you could *break*.  
  
Chow cast his eyes upward, towards the ceiling. The plaster there was cracked with age, splintered like a pane of glass shaken out of its frame.  
  
"He *knew* what Adam made you."  
  
Each little jagged, black abyss spiraling outwards, an accidental fractal. Valmont's lips, warm paper against his earlobe.  
  
"He remembers your eyes, huge and lonely in the dark."  
  
Each crack infinite and bottomless. In the gloom, they could sink deep enough to reach the stars. Or Hell, depending on your point of view . . . Shendu pressed his cheek against Chow's. The flushed skin smeared the tears on his face.  
  
"And that's where we return the whole subject of emotions," Shendu's weight pressed against Chow's chest, mashing is shoulder agonizingly against the wood. The man stifled his cry by biting down hard on his cut and swollen lips. The sting was a trifle. "He *pitied* you. Now, of course, Valmont tells himself it was his inexperience. Youth's lack of self control. But the truth of the matter is, he still pities you. *That's* why he kept you on, even after you and your cohorts failed miserably time and again."  
  
Infinite and bottomless. Broken. Forever.  
  
"How does it feel, Chow, to be living off of someone's pity?"  
  
Pity. Valmont pities him. Of all the things that could be thought about him, pity was the worst. Pity was what you gave a dying dog. Pity was the personification of weakness. Being pitied . . . meant that for all the shit he'd endured, all of the fuckers that had used him, the battles he'd fought, the pills he'd taken, the scars he'd earned, all of the friends he lost, the people he'd killed . . .  
  
They meant nothing.  
  
He meant nothing.  
  
He was nothing.  
  
And that would be the way it was, everlasting. Until he died.  
  
An object of someone's *pity*.  
  
Shendu pulled back, victory etched into every part of his host's handsome face. Chow was quiet, eyes closed, breathing heavy, but inert. Lost, somewhere, inside himself. The demon glanced around the room, as if only now realizing the time. Absently, he sucked on the ends of his fingers, drawing Chow's blood out of the pores, to melt, salty, on his tongue. He had succeeded. He'd caught his prey, broken its back so it could not escape, and slowly eviscerated it. It had been *so* long since he'd done this. The buzz of it still electrified his hands. Feeling balmy blood and flesh and screaming, screaming beneath him. Somewhere, caged between Ego and Id, Valmont shifted uneasily. Shendu was keeping this little encounter as much of a secret as possible, though the ecstasy of torture was very, very difficult to contain. The crime lord would know something was afoot, but he would not know the sadistic purity of the situation.  
  
No, Shendu wanted that for himself.  
  
The foot was angled so that the wedge of it would make impact like a blunt knife. It was unexpected, as was the explosion of pain in Shendu's knee. The demon yelped and recoiled, folding more in surprise than all else. Chow, chest hammering in both hurt and anger, pushed himself off the desk and used the momentum to swing his fist around in a blurry arc. It ended in pain, but a *good* kind of pain. A pain Chow recognized, and was heartened by, the pain of his bony knuckles impacting someone's face. Defending himself. Proving himself.  
  
Proving he wasn't someone to be pitied.  
  
A scarlet murk in his brain washed over his screeching common sense like a wave of acid, dissolving it nearly completely. That first kick was more out of desperation than all else, but that first punch had felt so good . . . Shendu reeled backwards, hand pressed to his cheek. When he removed it, little cherry marks, the blushing kisses left by Chow's punch, glowed softly. Valmont would be very confused in the morning, when he looked in the mirror and found that little row of bruises. Shendu snarled, his eyes lighting up like well cut rubies, and Chow swung again, this time catching Shendu in the gut.  
  
And that was it. He just . . . he just let fucking go.  
  
All of the rage building up in him, stifled by so many months spent cowering from either Chan or Shendu, rushed to the surface like the last air bubbles from a drowning man. He felt his skin go hot, rosy with what blood remained inside him, and not damping his skin. He forgot who he was attacking. He forgot that he was probably going to die for this, all cognitive thought picked up and thrown into the air, like confetti. Each of his injuries still wailed, police sirens under his skin, but they only served to give him more strength. His leg, still hurting from the fall, (the fall that had happened when he had been following orders from goddamned Shendu)—his elbow rushed forward, beating against Valmont's temple— lying there in the growing dusk, wondering if he was going to die (thinking back on everything that had happened to him, how his life had fallen apart after careful reconstructing because of goddamn Shendu)- his foot dug under the ribs, sliding slightly on the rich fabric of the robes—losing his money (his freedom)—knee up, Valmont's face down, *shit* did that impact feel good—wheedling, whining, embarrassing situations, *Chan*- hit, hit, hit, hit he couldn't even keep track of what he was doing anymore- being the youngest, the smallest, the weakest, Hak Foo, Valmont (Valmont *pitying* him for choices Chow had made himself) Valmont looking at him (that dark room, Jesus, what else was he supposed to do? It was his *job*)-- He felt, through the haze, a wiggling form beneath him, as he continued punching—Tohru, that old fart, the little brat, Captain Black, pushed around, starved, beaten, stabbed, dropped, ignored, carted off to space, near death experience number what? One million? Finn (Finn getting him drunk, Finn fucking bringing all that shit up, all that shit about the world ending)-- fuck, fuck, fuck, just keep fucking hitting –(him crying) the couch (the kiss) and Finnfuckingkissinghimandkissinghimandthenrunningawayohmygodohmygodohmygodohm ygodohmygodohsosorryI'msofuckingsorry . . .  
  
Cold, hard hands wrapped around his wrists, stopping the assault dead. The Enforcer stared into Valmont's now bloodied countenance, blurry eyes widening that the face staring back at him wasn't snarling in rage, but shocked. Valmont. Not Shendu. The demon had retreated, leaving his stunned host to take the beating. Chow felt the adrenaline and fury leave him, some sort of plug pulled in his bloodstream, so that all that was left was the terrible heartache. He went limp, falling sideways off his boss, whom he now realized he'd pinned to the floor; straddling him to get a better shot at his face.  
  
Valmont reached up, still staggered, and wiped his bleeding nose. In the dark, it looked like black paint had been spattered all over his face and suit. "Chow!" He barked. Hyperventilating, the addressed didn't respond other than try and pull himself away. "No! Chow! You don't understand! Get up! Get up! Get out! He's using me as a . . . . distraction." The hiss took over instantly, and was followed by a roar of rage that Chow had never heard before, a sound that only a demon could make. He didn't even have time to catch his breath.  
  
Brutally, Shendu picked him up, and beat his body against the desk, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his skull over and over again into the wood. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU LAY A FINGER ON ME, YOU PATHETIC HUMAN!" He howled, spittle flying from his mouth, teeth bared. Chow flailed weakly, unconsciousness rapidly approaching. "YOU FLITHY THING! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL RIP YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES! I'LL EAT YOU ALIVE!"  
  
The demon brought both fists down hard into Chow's stomach, knocking the breath out of him, and when the man doubled up, he ferociously uppercut him, snapping the man's head back with enough force to tear his tendons. Shendu lifted him over his head and brought him down hard on his stomach, and Chow vomited at the impact, the little food he'd eaten recently mixed with a dangerous amount of blood. Hands shaking, Shendu knelt down and seized the razor sharp letter opener that had been knocked to the floor. "A lesson. A lesson. That's what you need. Yes. You need to be reminded of who your master really is." Chow battled back tadpoles of darkness, sure that if he gave in to the comforting sleep inviting him, he would never wake up. He could hear Shendu's breath, like wind hissing through October leaves.  
  
The blade lifted up the back of Chow's jeans just enough to wiggle under, and he felt the denim part at Shendu's insistence. His body's shaking became enough to make the whole desk sound like it had been transformed into a rattle. Cold air raised the hair on the back of his legs, and then his inner thighs, as Shendu wedged a hand between them and drew them aside. The parting of a pale, bony, red-stained sea. The demon nudged the edge of his boxers up, and ran his fingertip over the warmest section of flesh, right below his groin  
  
The scar was whitewash against Chow's already pale skin. Shendu thrust the stiletto into the desk, using it as a knife rack, and roughly grappled the sensitive flesh, reading the raised lines like Braille.  
  
A name, permanently tattooed. Liu Adam An. Four groups of four raised lines, slashed diagonally, and a row of three.  
  
A scoreboard.  
  
"Twenty three times." Shendu said breathily. "Valmont only remembers seeing the marks for twenty-two. Looks like your friend wanted to give you a good bye present." He leaned back, his sorcerer's robes rustling. "You have been marked, Chow. Branded by your former master. An excellent idea, actually. Perhaps there is hope for a select few of you mortals after all. In fact—"He clapped his hands together, a bloody mist spraying from the impact. "I like this idea so very much, I believe I'm going to pay tribute to it."  
  
He snatched the knife, and swung it in a long arc, the tip meet with Chow's lower back and leaving a glistening line. Chow nearly screamed, but it dissolved into a burble as he choked on the blood pouring from his now broken nose "YOU." Slash. "WILL" Slash "RESPECT" slash "ME AS" slash "YOUR MASTER!!" On the last stroke, his back now looking like it had been whipped, Chow managed to utter a single syllable, his voice wet.  
  
"Mont," he pleaded, trying to crane his head around. "Mont,"  
  
Shendu smacked him across the face with the broad side of the blade, silencing his pleads, and began, slowly, to gouge out letters in his skin, right below the scar.  
  
*******  
  
Valmont beat his fists helplessly against the mental cage Shendu had imprisoned him in. It had taken on the form of a giant, seamless box, the walls opaque frosted glass. He could not see what was happening beyond them, only vaguely moving shadows, broad swatches of darkness. But Shendu had forgotten to soundproof the prison. He could hear the screaming.  
  
"Damnit, Shendu." Valmont hissed to himself. "What are you doing to him?" He punched the wall, feeling only slight pain that faded instantly. The sounds were muffled, it was true- cotton-ball sounds, but he could make out the Enforcer's high-pitched howling and begging well enough. Sighing, Valmont slumped against the wall. The wails burned through his mind, and he clamped his hands tightly against his ears.  
  
What could he do? Shendu's will was too strong, the power of his mind too fierce. Valmont might be able to shatter the box, escape into his own form for minutes, but he could not hold the dragon off. He had to do something, though. He didn't like Chow, but . . . he wasn't absolutely heartless. He had some compassion. Sighing, Valmont stood and for what seemed like the trillionth time, circled the interior of his cell, one hand sliding along the walls, seeking imperfections and weak spots. On his third rotation, he noticed that, in . . . well, whatever unwholesome activity Shendu was engaged in . . . the demon had let a small portion of the wall soften. Valmont kicked it, pleased that he didn't have to think about pain here as he booted the barrier. A small whole opened up, just large enough for him to get the upper half of his body through. Not a full escape, but enough to see what was going on.  
  
The rush of sensation overwhelmed him for a moment, but as he returned, he almost fled back to his box in horror. The feel of the knife, warm and expertly wielded, the soft tissue, parting like apple skin, the brush of fabric against his knuckles as he reached further up his Enforcer's thigh to get a better angle on the "e". The smell of blood, salty and meaty, primal and deep, and the fear- Valmont recognized that stink, something fetid. Rotting eggs and wet beds. The sound of the sobs and screaming and begging and gasping, acute and poignant, no longer muffled at Shendu's discretion. And what he could see, lit by the glow of his own eyes—no, Shendu's eyes—  
  
He was carving his name into Chow's shaking, bloodied thigh. Deep enough that it would scar forever.  
  
Valmont frantically went down a mental checklist of anything, anything he could do to help the man beneath him. He didn't have the strength to break out. Shendu's bloodlust raged in his veins, giving the demon super strength of body and especially will. There was no way Valmont could push his way back into his head. Where were the other Enforcers? Why wasn't anyone even questioning? Surely, they wouldn't ignore something like this, would they?  
  
Would they?  
  
As he probed the edges of Shendu's consciousness , hoping the dragon was occupied enough by his . . . his play not to notice him, Valmont stumbled unwittingly into one of Shendu's recent memories. Chow, earlier, being grabbed by the shoulder, Shendu was twisting it, silkily asking him questions about—WHAT?!  
  
Oh, bloody hell, Lord Almighty, this was a mess. It explained a lot about the situation between Finn and the smaller enforcer, the way they'd been acting together for the past few weeks. But no time to consider that now- Shendu had pulled Valmont's body down, and before he realized what was happening, Valmont felt his tongue bathing in the blood rippling from the freshly cut letters. A happy hum bubbled up from within his chest, Shendu purring at the delightful taste, and Valmont doubled over, disgusted beyond belief, feeling like crying himself. This wasn't just a matter of Shendu torturing Chow; Shendu was torturing the crime lord as well. Oh, he might not know Valmont was watching, but he would keep the memories locked up, hidden away to be sprung as traps. Weapons that would knock Valmont off his feet, and allow the demon to take control of his body without contest.  
  
Seemingly satisfied, Shendu pulled back, wiping his mouth. Dark stains streaked the back of his hand, puddling in the pores, spreading like delicate, ink like lace. Chow seemed unconscious, and Valmont hoped, for both their sakes, that he was. But, to the gentile man's dismay, the Enforcer weakly opened his eyes, although he continued lay prone. His skin looked like the pearly innards of clamshells, and suddenly Valmont realized that the danger to Chow's small body was more than just psychological- he had lost a huge amount of blood. Oh, god, he noticed it now, coating the area by the desk, chilly and sticky on the sorcerer's robes, matted in both their hair, spattered on the walls, drenching the desk and pattering on the loose-leaf papers scattered on the floor. Chow was going to die soon if he didn't get help.  
  
And if Chow died, that would be one more tie to humanity, lost forever. How soon till the other Enforcer's followed, and Valmont was left alone, in the dark of his mind. Swallowed by the demon who his body now called master.  
  
But what could he DO?  
  
He felt his mouth being opened, and the buzz of words being formed deep in his throat. The voice that came from him was definitely Shendu's, but it had a strange, husky quality to it. "You know," Shendu said playfully. "You're not so bad looking, bent over like that. Maybe Adam had the right . . . idea." And, leering, he reached down, tugging the robes up over his knees.  
  
No.  
  
Chow hissed in fright as one of Shendu's hands savagely grabbed his hip, thumb digging into the freshly carved anagram, fingers tightening enough to leave little bruises, a sound akin to the too-terrified-too-scream noise made during dreams. Shendu's other hand worked at the buttons on the boxers that Valmont *insisted* they wear under the robes.  
  
NO.  
  
He felt his hand, foreign and cold and tacky, pull the undergarments down.  
  
*NO*!  
  
*****  
  
If he passed out, he died. If he passed out, he died. If he passed out, he died. He had to keep repeating that to himself, he had to, or he would slip away and never, ever come back. The phrase repeated itself over and over in his head, not whispered softly, but wielded like a fucking hammer, *beating* it into him. Chow had to do that. He had to distract himself, because he couldn't bear what was happening to him, what Shendu was doing to him, he couldn't do it, he couldn't do it again. He wanted to pass out. He wanted to let go. He wanted to die. He wanted to die.  
  
He didn't understand what was happening. Something was different, the hands weren't there anymore. He hadn't . . . been hurt yet. And what was that strange noise . . . ?  
  
It was a scream. Angry scream. Denial.  
  
Valmont?  
  
The Enforcer, defying everything in his body, every ounce of common sense, pushed himself up and craned his head around long enough to see Shendu recoil, his hands clenching the sides of his head. ". . .Va . . .mon . . .?"  
  
"NO! NO! NOT IN MY BODY! GET AWAY FROM HIM!" The man's body seizured, and he dropped to his knees, face twisted in two different furies. Chow felt blood seep from between his lips and tried to lick it back up, aware of the preciousness of every last drop. He felt detached. Pained, frightened, embarrassed, but . . . floating. He was so tired. Thin arms giving out from beneath him, he almost gracefully collapsed on the desk, losing sight of the scuffle behind him. But he could hear it, raging, crashing. The sound of holes being punching into walls. Alternating roars and yells. Bu it all sounded so distant. He must have been slipping underwater. That was it. That's why he felt so light. He was swimming . . .  
  
No, no, he had to snap back. He was delirious. He had to get out.  
  
"CHOW! RUN!" Valmont called to him, before his own hand wrapped around the back of his head and smacked it against the edge of the desk. Chow considered the idea. It sounded appealing. He probably should go. But he was so sleepy . . . how could he run? "DID YOU HEAR ME?! GET OUT!"  
  
I can't. I can't run. I'm all . . . I feel like jelly.  
  
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, *RUN*!"  
  
But . . .  
  
Valmont surged past him, lunging for something laying innocently on a velvet pillow on the windowsill, spiting ferocious curses at Shendu and all his kin. What was he doing? What was he---  
  
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHHHH!" The screech was both human and demon, a duet of pain the lanced Chow's ears, drawing him out of the deathly haze he was falling into. Green fire arced up Valmont's arms, and the smell of burning flesh oozed through the room, even though the chimerical flames left no visible mark. The two beings competing even in their agony for which had the loudest wail, their entwined form writhing.  
  
Finally, drained but victorious, Valmont slumped to the floor, the touch of everything, including his clothing, like thousands of yellowjackets stinging him over and over. Shendu had been pushed back, temporarily sealed in the very prison he so often kept Valmont in. The Pan Ku box, still send up ethereal wisps of smoke that danced in the gloom, lay to his left, and he was careful to avoid its touch as he pulled himself to his feet.  
  
In the aftermath of the torture and fight, and room was eerily quiet. The blueblood Englishman limped to his desk, and the figure lying still upon it. He felt panic chewing on his ear as he approached, but quelled the surge of fear as he realized Chow was still breathing, albeit shallowly.  
  
"Chow?" He whispered, superstitiously afraid that if he spoke too loud, it would hurt the Enforcer even more. Uncomfortably aware of the nude lower half of the man and the tattered remains of his denim pants serving as makeshift shackles, Valmont quickly retrieved a sheet from his bed in the next room., and laid it across chow's back, feeling uncharacteristically sick at the slash marks and . . . other marks adorning him. He needed medical attention. NOW.  
  
Valmont patted himself down, looking for the telltale bump of his cell phone. Hak Foo, Finn, Ratso, one of them must have the limo. He couldn't call for an ambulance, that would be like painting a giant announcement on the side of the warehouse: "WANTED CRIMINALS INSIDE. ALERT THE POLICE FOR FUN AND PROFIT!"  
  
Bloody hell ('literally' a voice whispered to him). It was in his jacket pocket. He darted back into his bedroom, tearing the place up for hide or hair of the lime green blazer. Shendu had discarded it somewhere . . . he recoiled, suddenly realizing he was leaving red handprints all over all of his possessions. He wiped them on the walls, trying to get as much gore off as possible, the plaster proving an ineffectual paper towel. He had to hurry, though. Shendu would not be enclosed much longer. He could already feel the Dragon bending the mental bars . . .  
  
Scrabbling behind his headboard, Valmont finally retrieved his jacket, feeling a pang for its wrinkled state. The phone felt reassuring in his hand. He flipped it open, cursing loudly as his nervous had punched the wrong numbers over and over. There. There, he had it.  
  
To the soundtrack of the ringing cell, Valmont hurried back into the office to check on his ward. The other line clicked, and he heard Finn's voice crackling to audile life. "Yo, Big V!"  
  
Chow was gone.  
  
"Boss?"  
  
Valmont licked his lips nervously. "Boys, we have a very dire problem."  
  
END  
  
AN: You don't really think I'd leave you hanging here, do you? Another sequel is on its way shortly. And by shortly, I mean NOT the year and a half it took to write this. Promise.  
  
And your lemon requests have not gone unheard. I might just have something steamy being cooked up right now . . . 


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